


Swimming In The Dark

by Lennelle



Series: Blindsided [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Blind Sam Winchester, Depression, Gen, Guide Dog, Permanent Injury, Pre-Series, Pre-Stanford, Sam Has a Dog
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-13
Updated: 2017-04-19
Packaged: 2018-10-18 12:31:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,140
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10616985
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lennelle/pseuds/Lennelle
Summary: Life on the road doesn't cater to the blind, and Sam isn't coping.





	1. Chapter 1

Waking up is weird. Sam opens his eyes and darkness gives way to thick, foggy white. It seems bright, too bright, and he can't see a thing. He'll never see anything ever again. His eyes begin to ache and he reaches out a careful hand.

"A little to the right," Dean says from the other bed. Sam feels further to the right until his fingers find the hard plastic of his sunglasses. He navigates them in his hands until he has them turned the right way, then he slides them onto his face. The bright, white fogginess that usually encompasses him without the glasses is dulled to a tolerable darkness.

Getting out of bed is easy; kicking the covers off his legs and letting his feet find the carpet. It's tricky once he's standing. Staying in a new motel each week doesn't leave Sam much time to learn his way around. Normally, he wakes up to a face-full of warm doggy breath as Cecil licks his nose, then he's escorted to the kitchen and Dean pours him some cereal. There's no sign of the dog nearby.

"Where's Cecil?" he asks Dean, turning to the left where he knows the other bed should be. His answer comes from behind and Sam swings around, foot catching on a discarded shirt on the floor. He nearly falls, but Dean catches him under the arm.

"Sorry about that," Dean says. He guides Sam across the room by the elbow and they shuffle around a bit until the back of his knees touch a chair. Sam sits.

"It's okay."

"No, Sammy, it's not. I shouldn't have left that there. It was stupid of me. Sometimes, I forget."

Sam bites the inside of his cheek. "That must be nice for you."

Dean sighs. Sam can hear the _chink_ of bowls in the cupboard, the _clunk_ of one being placed on the table, the sound of cereal tumbling, milk glugging. Dean takes Sam's hand and presses a spoon into it.

"I didn't mean it like that. It's just an old habit, tossing something on the floor without thinking about it," he says.

Reaching out with the spoon to find the bowl is like jumping into the abyss. Everything Sam does now feels like walking up the stairs in the dark and expecting there to be one more step than there is, then the wretched fear that he's falling, only to be met with the jarring stop of the landing. It's scary being blind, it's even scarier when you know what hides in the dark.

Sam still hasn't gotten used to eating without seeing. By the time he gets the spoon to his mouth most of the milk has dripped back into the bowl and the cornflakes are already soggy. It's better than being spoon fed, which he's sure Dean wouldn't hesitate to do. Sam focuses and listens. Birds chirping outside, the rush of cars going by, a couple having an argument in the room next to theirs. No Cecil.

"Where is he?" Sam asks again.

"Dad or Cecil?" Dean says evasively.

Sam scowls in what he hopes is Dean's direction. Even if he gets it wrong, the glasses will cover it up. "I already know Dad's not here, like he usually isn't. But Cecil is always with me."

Dean doesn't say anything and Sam knows he's trying to come up with a way to stall.

_"Dean."_

"Okay, fine. Dad took him to the vet. He was throwing up last night."

Sam frowns. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"Well, you were sleeping when it happened, and you slept late when Dad took him to the vet. You sleep a lot, you know."

Sam shrugs. "Not much else to do."

Dean is quiet. Sam wonders if he's looking at him, it feels like he is. Finishing breakfast takes longer than it did with a working pair of eyes, and Sam spills milk twice, once on the table and once on himself, and he has to just sit there and let Dean wipe it up. It's humiliating. He thinks it makes Dean feel better to do these things, to feel like he's looking after Sam.

"Is Cecil gonna be okay?" Sam finally asks.

"He's a tough little dude," Dean says, and it isn't really an answer. Sam and Cecil have been together for three months now and it's already SamandCecil. They're together every second of every day, and now that he's not here Sam feels lost. Like being at sea without a life jacket. How the hell did Dean think Sam wouldn't notice? He's blind, not dumb.

"What do you wanna do today?" Dean asks, changing the subject.

Sam shrugs.

"We could go to the library," Dean suggests.

"So I can enjoy all the books I can't read?" Sam snaps.

"They have audio books."

"Having headphones in makes me feel weird. I don't like not hearing what's going on."

The squeak of the linoleum floor makes Sam think Dean is shifting from foot to foot. The silence makes Sam uncomfortable, there's nothing else for him to focus on, so he finds the button on the side of his watch. _"Eleven sixteen am,"_ it says in a mechanical voice. Sam hates that voice, but the watch has been a godsend - well, it was a gift from Bobby, not God.

"You let me sleep in late," Sam says.

"You were out. Figured I should leave you be."

Sam is still tired now. Normally, he'd just find his way back to bed and climb under the covers. He only ever goes outside to take Cecil for a walk, otherwise he'd just stay in bed all day. Not like there's anything else for him to do. The accident made sure he was so far behind in school that he'd have to re-take his final two years. He certainly can't hunt. All he can do is sit around and listen to the TV.

"We're going out," Dean says, like it's a fact that can't be questioned.

"Don't feel like it," Sam says. "Besides, where would we go? Can't go to the library. Can't see a movie. Can't do anything."

He gets to his feet and uses the edge of the table to guide himself. He has every intention to climb under the covers and stay there, but Dean grabs his arm and holds him firmly.

"No. You're going to take a shower. You stink, Sammy." He sniffs Sam's collar. "Jeez. When did you last wash?"

Sam wrestles out of Dean's grip and finds the wall, following it until a chest of drawers stop him. It's sailing in the dark from there. When he finds the bed, he drops down onto it.

"Said I don't feel like going out."

Dean groans. "Sam. Look, I know this is hard. I can't even imagine - fuck - but you can't be like this. You can't just sit around and waste away. I thought having Cecil was helping."

"He does," Sam says tiredly. "I mean. He makes me feel safer. I dunno. But I feel useless, Dean. I can't do anything. I can't hunt and every motel is different and I can't find my way around. I want a place to live that I can learn to navigate. I want _structure_."

"We can do that. We can find somewhere more permanent. A flat, maybe a house. Dad could figure it out."

Sam scoffs. "Do you really think Dad would go for that? He wouldn't give up hunting. Not even for this," he says. Dean doesn't reply, Sam continues, "I wanted to go to college."

Dean is still quiet. Sam keeps going, "I decided when I was fourteen. I worked my ass off to make sure I had high enough grades, to get extra credit. Before," he gestures to his eyes, "I was practising application essays."

"You never said."

"Didn't think you'd understand," Sam admits. "I never liked hunting, Dean. I always wanted out. Kinda funny that I'm out for good now. Got what I wished for."

The bed dips beside him and Sam lets his hand wander until it finds Dean's elbow. Sometimes it helps to have someone or something to hold onto.

"Sammy," Dean says. "You can still go to college. Blind people get degrees, right? Why not you?"

"Dean..."

"No. I'm not letting you sleep your life away. You're blind, and it sucks, but you still _have_ a life. We'll get you to college, okay? Trust me."

"I do," Sam says, smiling. The skin on his cheeks feels taut and his brings a hand up to feel the ridged scarring there. He still remembers the last thing he saw, crystal clear. The witch tossing a handful of silver-grey powder in his face. God, it had burned like acid. To make things worse, she kicked him straight into the jaws of her Black Dog. What kind of psycho keeps a black dog as a pet anyway?

Only Sam would be so fucking unlucky.

"What do I look like?" he asks Dean.

Dean is quiet for a moment, and Sam thinks he might not answer, but he takes off Sam's sunglasses and says, "Well, you've got the same dumb face."

Sam can't help a small laugh.

"A few scars here and there," Dean continues. "It's not as noticeable as you're probably thinking, but it does make you look badass. Um, around your eyes, it looks like it was burned."

"Sure felt like it at the time," Sam says. "What's with witches and tossing deadly shit around?"

Dean doesn't laugh. He keeps talking, "Your eyes don't open all the way. The colour is faded, kinda milky. The left side is worse, the lower lid sags a little."

Sam sucks on his lower lip, thinking, trying to visualise this new Sam in his mind. It isn't a pretty picture.

"I can see in my dreams," he admits. "When I wake up, I feel shitty because I can't see anymore. When I'm dreaming, I'm the same as I was before."

Dean puts an arm around Sam's shoulders and pulls him close. "You're still the same as you were, dumbass. Same big, smarty-pants brain, same stupid haircut. Same annoying little brother."

Sam smiles and sits up straight. He reaches out and his fingertips brush Dean's forehead. He takes his whole face in his hands and feels. Short, cropped hair, a low brow, a small break in his nose, a scar on his chin, smooth skin.

"Yep," Sam says. "You've got the same ugly mug."

Dean shoves him gently. It would have been a lot rougher when Sam could still see. He's made of glass these days, apparently.

"What d'ya say?" Dean says. "We going out? I'll keep my cell on me so Dad can call about Cecil."

Sam nods and takes a deep breath. The thought of going outside, stepping out into the unknown, swimming without a life vest, it's terrifying. Life was terrifying before he lost his sight, but the scariest thought is locking himself away forever. "Okay. Let's go out."


	2. Chapter 2

It's more terrifying than Sam had expected. He's been outside after losing his sight plenty of times, but after a couple of months of gluing himself to whichever bed he has that week, inserting himself back into the word is a tad difficult. He'd forgotten how overwhelming it can be, especially without Cecil by his side. Dean is close to his elbow and Sam has his cane in his hand, sweeping it across the sidewalk in front of him.

A car honks on the road and Sam jerks, Dean puts a hand on his shoulder and keeps them both moving.

"Nearly there," he says. Sam takes a few deep breaths, in through his nose and out through his mouth as quietly as he can so he doesn't freak Dean out. Dean will make a big deal if he thinks Sam is panicking, which Sam is _not_. Yet. Right now, Sam wishes he was back in bed. He gasps when Dean grips his arm tight and pulls him to a stop.

"What? What is it?" Sam says, turning his head so he might be able to hear better what's going on.

"We're here," Dean replies. He sounds cheery, and Sam thinks maybe it's a bigger deal to Dean that Sam is out and about than it is to Sam. Dean doesn't let go and steers him to the left. A bell jingles, signalling a door opening.

"Is there a step?" Sam asks, hesitant to go any further forward in case he trips on something and falls flat on his face, which would only screw his screwed-up face even further. Dean pats his arm reassuringly.

"You think I'd let you trip? Besides, what do you think the cane's for? It's not an accessory," he says.

Sam allows himself a small smile and walks forwards, slow and careful like he's on thin ice. The door jingles closed behind them. Sam smells burgers frying, he can hear the soft background noise of a diner.

"Welcome to _Dianne's_ ," a girl's voice exclaims. It takes Sam off guard and he nearly drops his cane. When the girl speaks again she sounds a lot less cheery, "Jeez! I'm so sorry. Didn't mean to startle you. You okay, sugar?"

Sam nods, angling his head so he can try to get an idea where exactly she's standing. It's hard to figure out with all this other noise bouncing around the walls. Next thing he knows, he's being escorted - presumably by Dean - and then helped into a booth. The seat is warm like someone else had been sitting here only a moment ago, the leather squeaks as he shuffles around for a better position.

"We've got a special on today," the girl says. "All classic burgers are half price, this doesn't count with the house specials. Can I get you anything to drink?"

"You got any beers?" Dean asks.

"Sure do."

"Whichever's cheapest, sweetheart."

Sam wants to roll his eyes at Dean, but he can't. The thought makes him oddly sad. Dean's foot nudges him under the table.

"Huh?"

"What are you drinking, Sammy?"

Sam looks down to see the menu and immediately feels stupid. He quickly tries to come up with something, anything, but all knowledge of beverages has vanished from his brain. What drinks does he like? Sam can't think and he feels like throwing up. He has the horrible sensation that someone, likely the waitress, is staring at him.

"He'll have a coke," Dean cuts in. He quickly adds, "with a straw."

Sam immediately feels embarrassed. Not only is he blind, he's apparently mute now and is unable to drink from a glass without the help of a straw. He hears the waitress' heels click out of earshot and he slumps into the booth.

"You want me to read you the menu?" Dean offers.

Sam shrugs. Not like he has any other choice. Dean proceeds to list everything off the menu. By the time he's done, Sam has forgotten all of it.

"I'll just have what you have," he says.

"A double bacon-cheese burger with extra onions?" Dean says. "You sure about that?"

Sam shrugs again. No matter what he gets, it'll be difficult to eat, which sucks enough in front of Dean and Dad, but the thought of eating anything in front of a diner full of strangers is horrifying. He doesn't want anyone to see him stab a burger into his cheek and spill tomato sauce all down his front. He figures it'll take a while to get this eating thing down since his coordination is thrown way off. Lucky he'd known how to pee in the dark before he went blind.

When the waitress comes back, Dean orders Sam a grilled chicken sandwich, fries and a side salad. They're quiet as they wait. Sam listens to the noise around them

A couple of kids in the booth behind them are arguing intensely about whether DC comics or Marvel is better.

Across the diner he can hear a toddler wailing and a young mother trying her best to calm the child down.

At the table next to them, someone says, "Is he blind?"

"Duh," is the answer from whoever they're with, voice lowered. "Why else would he be wearing sunglasses indoors?"

"So sad," the first person says. "I mean, look at his face. It's all messed up."

"It's not that bad," the other replies. "He's kinda cute actually."

"Nuh-uh. That scar is horrible. Poor guy."

"Hey!" That's Dean's voice.

Sam's stomach drops. "Dean, please don't."

Dean is undeterred. "You talking about my brother?" he demands. The area around them has gone quiet and Sam knows people have stopped their conversations to listen in. Sam shrinks further into the booth, feeling over his shoulder for the hood on his jacket and pulling it over his head.

"No! No, we weren't. We were..." the person from the other table tries to come up with a lie.

"No, you were being assholes," Dean spits. "You think it's okay to talk about someone like that? You didn't even have the decency to lower your goddamn voices. He's blind, not deaf."

"We're sorry. We really are."

"Not good enough," Dean sounds like he's only just getting started.

"Dean!" Sam barks, and everyone shuts up. He squirms, feeling dozens of pairs of eyes on him. He clears his voice. "Dean, leave it. I'm not hungry anyway. Let's go."

"Sammy, we ain't leaving just because - "

"I said, I'm not hungry," Sam says, firm and final. He stands up and lets his hand guide him out of the booth. He wishes he could storm out of here, but he'll have to navigate his slow escape with the cane. At least he can't see people staring. The end of the cane smacks the feet of people's chairs, they seem to be everywhere and it's disorienting and Sam can't remember where the door was. Blind people are supposed to be able to get around with a cane, why can't Sam even get that right?

Dean's hand falls on his shoulder. Sam knows it's Dean because it feels like him; his broad palm and long fingers, the way he squeezes ever so slightly. He lets his brother take his elbow and escort him out of the diner and back down the street to the motel.

"Sammy," Dean says.

"Don't," Sam snaps.

Once the motel door has closed, the constant noise from outside ceases. Sam feels like he can breathe again. He can remember the way to the bathroom, forward seven paces from the door and three paces to the right. He lets himself in and feels for the lock before sliding it into place. Dean tries knocking for a minute, but he gives up when Sam's made it clear he won't be answering. He takes off his glasses and tosses them, hearing the snap and shatter of plastic against tile. He reaches out until he finds the edge of the bath and he perches himself, dropping his face into his hands.

He can feel the knotted flesh that runs from the top of his forehead, through his left eye before cutting off halfway down his cheek. There are smaller scratches, one sliced through the right side of his upper lip. He slips his hand under his shirt and feels the rough scarring all across his chest and abdomen. He remembers waking up in hospital a few times, too high to even notice he couldn't see anymore. It took two surgeries to patch him back together, and Sam still doesn't feel whole.

He want's to run his fingers through Cecil's fur, feel his warm body tucked against his. Cecil is the only one who doesn't treat him like a porcelain doll. To Cecil, Sam is the same as anyone else. He isn't blind, he isn't disabled, he's just Sam.

Sam doesn't realise he's crying until something warm and wet splashes his hand. He carefully wipes his eyes. It bubbles out of him, a sob that's been sitting in him for a long time, and Sam clamps a hand over his mouth to keep himself quiet.

_I can't do this. I can't live like this. I can't. I can't see. Oh God I can't see._

"Where's Sammy?" that's his dad's voice. Sam didn't even hear his return.

"Bathroom," Dean says, voice lowered. "He's upset because of some jerks at the diner."

"You got him out of the room?" Dad sounds surprised. "Wait. Jerks?"

"Some assholes were talking about him like he wasn't even there. Idiots."

Sam clamps his trembling lip between his teeth. Those kids at the diner were assholes, sure, but that's not why Sam's upset.

This whole day has been a painful reminder that he will never be normal.

There's a soft scratching at the door and Sam finally makes himself stand up and find the door. He unlocks and opens it slowly, but is quickly met with an armful of dog. Cecil licks his cheek and Sam scratches behind his ears.

"He's fine," Dad says. "The vet think he just ate something he shouldn't have."

Sam wipes his cheek with the back of his hand. "Gross, Cecil."

Cecil licks him again. Sam finds Cecil's harness and grips on tight. It feels better than the cane, like he isn't just stepping out into nothingness by himself. He trusts Cecil to know where to go. Cecil guides him out of the bathroom. Sam counts three steps straight ahead and meets the end of the bed. He drops onto it and lets his fingers roam over Cecil, over his muzzle, between his eyes, around his ears and down his neck. Sam is painfully aware that no one is speaking and he can imagine Dean and their dad exchanging looks. _How do we deal with Sam?_

Sam doesn't want to hear it. "I'm gonna lie down for a while," he says, and shuffles up the bed, kicking off his shoes and burying himself under the covers. Cecil hops up and pads across the mattress, sticking his nose into the cave Sam has made for himself. Sam stays still and listens, eventually he hears Dean's heavy tread across the floor to the couch, then the sound of commercials on the TV.

"I'll go pick up some supplies," John says, then the door clicks shut. Sam closes his eyes and tries not to think.

He's running, feet moving fast and sure. The field is vast and green and the sky stretches over in a dome of blue. He can see his hands swinging at his sides, his feet rushing beneath him. He feels free, just running and running. Clouds begin to stretch across the sky, the world is getting darker and Sam suddenly remembers that he isn't just running, he's running from something. He can't run anymore. He moves slower like his limbs are wading through mud and he _knows_ that something is close. He needs to move but he can't. He dares to turn around, sees nothing but yellow -

Sam is hot and out of breath when he wakes up. He's still curled up under the blanket, Cecil stretched out at his side. Sam knots his fingers in Cecil's soft fur and he tries to stay still. He can hear Dean and Dad talking over the clink of guns being dismantled, the squeak of them being cleaned.

"He just needs time," says Dad.

"He needs more than that," says Dean.

"He isn't used to it yet. He'll get used to it."

"He can't stay with us."

Sam sucks in a breath.

"Dean," John says.

"I mean it, Dad."

"I know this isn't ideal, but he's safest with us. We can keep him safe from - from what's out there."

Dean sighs. "Look, Dad. I've been doing some research. The Minnesota School for the Blind is only an hour's drive from Jim's. Sam can go live in Blue Earth, Jim'll look after him. Sam wants to go to school, Dad. He needs to. It's killing him to live like this."

"Jim and I haven't talked in a long time, Dean."

"This isn't about you and Jim. This is about Sam."

"I don't want him out of my sight. It isn't safe for him, especially now."

"Nowhere's safe, you taught us both that. If he goes back to school, he has a chance at a life. He isn't like us, hunting isn't an option. It wasn't even an option before he went blind."

"Fuck," John says. A heavy sigh. "You're right. I just... I'll talk to Sam about it later. I need time to think first."

Sam feels himself drifting again. He's so tired. Always tired.

"This is the best thing for him, Dad. The people at this school can help him in ways we can't."

Sam closes his eyes, and dreams in shapes and colours.


End file.
